Oh God. “Okay.”
I feel the bed shift as he gets up. I try to stay calm as the silence grows, enhancing the effect of the blindfold. Just when I’m starting to lose it, I feel a featherlike touch across my rib cage. He strokes whatever it is over my stomach and up my side and it tickles so much, I try to twist away. He just chuckles and continues running it across my sensitive skin as I wiggle around as much as the bindings allow.
“Please! Stop!”
“As soon as you guess.”
“A feather?”
“Good.” He rewards me with a kiss, but it’s over way too soon. I’m hungry for his lips, his mouth, his tongue.
He drags something new lightly across my skin, something so weightless I can barely feel it. Whatever it is trails up the length of my leg and across my inner thigh, purposely skirting the edge of my sex to trail over my stomach, then around the other side of my vagina and down the other leg. I shiver as goose bumps rise on my skin. Then he draws it upward, circling my areola with it until I’m squirming again, but this time I’m not trying to get away. This time I want…more, but of what I don’t know. I try to focus on guessing the object. I’ve about determined that it’s string when he pulls it taut and scrapes it over my erect nipple roughly, making a twanging noise and sending shock waves to my core. He moves to my other nipple, flicking my hard nipple back and forth with it, and I can’t help but moan. It’s unbelievably erotic. I try to place what it could be, but to be honest, I’m having a little bit of trouble concentrating.
“A rubber band?” That would explain the twang, and my lust-clouded brain can’t come up with anything better.
He scrapes it back across my other nipple, making me gasp.
“Close,” he says. “But no. It’s dental floss. Two minutes of punishment to offset that two-minute massage.”
“You don’t have to sound so gleeful about it,” I grumble, but the thought of his punishments, which seem to be designed to arouse me more than hurt me, intrigues me almost more than the massage.
He doesn’t touch me for a minute, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, struggling to get my footing. I wait in silence, feeling exposed but more turned on than I’ve ever been before.
The pinch to my nipples is a shock, completely catching me off guard, but it’s as if there’s a conduit straight from my nipples directly to my pussy, which pulses in response. I feel his fingers on my breast then, and on my nipple, and then something is tightening around the erect point, exerting a consistent and oh-so-erotic pressure. He moves to my other breast, but the slight compression of my nipple doesn’t lessen.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask.
“Tying the floss around your nipples,” he says, “to keep you aroused.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem.” My voice sounds strangled to my own ears, and he laughs softly.
A few seconds later, something silky soft sweeps across my inner thighs. This one’s easy. “A brush.”
“Correct. A makeup brush.”
Like the feather, the brush tickles erotically as he trails it over my skin and my body’s straining, trying to escape whatever trajectory it’s on, which is apparently what he wants, because he continues until I’m pulling on the restraints and begging him to stop.
“It doesn’t count unless you say red. So go ahead and beg all you want, sweetheart.”
I clamp my lips together and he chuckles, tormenting me for several more long minutes. When he finally stops, I’m wriggling as much from the heat thrumming through my veins as from him tickling me.
The next sensation has me gasping, as he slashes the sharp point of a knife across my belly, and I swear he’s cut me.
“Red!” I scream.
He stops immediately, pulling the blindfold from my eyes, and I’m staring into his eyes, which are clouded with concern mixed with confusion.
“Fuck, McKenzie. I’m sorry. I thought you could handle the blindfold.”
“It’s not the blindfold. Blood makes me squeamish. I-I don’t want you to cut me.”
“Cut you! Is that what you think I did?”
“Yes. It was a knife, right?”
“No, sweetheart. It was this.” He holds up an innocent-looking wooden chopstick. “Have you been cut before?”
“No, it’s not that. Oh God. I’m sorry. I…I overreacted. I couldn’t see and my imagination took over and I panicked.”
He cups my cheek in his hand. “That’s part of the point of sensation play. The heightened sense of awareness enhances the pleasure. But in a sense, it’s also a mindfuck, which is part of the power exchange, and part of the pleasure. You have to put your trust in me unequivocally, even when your mind is telling you otherwise. Just because something seems to be one thing, that doesn’t mean it is. You don’t always know what you think you know.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I feel like an idiot for freaking out. And totally bummed about prematurely ending what was turning out to be a very erotic game.
“For what? You used your safe word exactly as you should have. Although I hate that my misjudgment made you need it.”
“But I ruined the game.”
“Not at all. You just added two more minutes to the punishment column, so in my mind you just made it better.” His wolfish grin makes me smile.
“So we can keep playing?”
“Do you want to?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
He tweaks my nipple. “That’s ‘Yes, please, sir.’”
“Yes. Please, sir.” Why does calling him “sir” make my stomach flop?
“Good girl. But I want you to know here,” he places his hand between my breasts, “that I will not do anything to physically hurt you, at least not in a way that doesn’t bring you pleasure. Okay?”
I’d trust Noah Payne with my life. Trusting him with my body is a no-brainer. “Okay.”
He gives me a reproving look.
“Yes, sir,” I add quickly.
With a kiss, he slips the blindfold back over my eyes, and this time when he draws the chopstick over my skin, I can relax into the sharp scrape as it twists into pleasure.
Moments later, I hear the clatter of the chopstick being tossed onto the nightstand, and something rough grazes my nipples. I inhale sharply at the sensation. Constricted by the string tied around them, my nipples feel engorged and more sensitive than ever, and the rough abrasion is disconcerting. I try to squirm away, but I’m obviously not going anywhere.
Noah’s chuckle is dark. “Do you like that, baby?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“What is it?”
The bristles scrape across again, and I whimper. “Some kind of brush. But not a soft one.”
“A toothbrush,” he confirms. “I’ll give you that one.” When it feels like my poor nipples have been chafed enough, he brushes downward, guiding the bristles over my stomach and pelvis and to my sex, grazing my clit. I desperately try to close my legs, but they’re too firmly tied. I want to close them, but the restraints are holding me open, helpless to whatever he wants to do.
“Do you like that?” he asks, his voice seductive.
I shake my head wildly. “Too sensitive.”
He stops, and I wonder what’s coming next. The minutes tick by, and I start to fidget in silent anticipation.
“I like you like this.” His voice is a low guttural rasp. “Stripped and wet and anxiously waiting for whatever I’m going to do to you next.”
The next object he trails across my torso is more substantial than the feather or floss. It’s thick, heavy, and smooth. My mind struggles to identify whatever it is that is caressing my skin, but as each sensation piles on top of the other, my ability to think grows dimmer.
“Any guesses?”
He trails it right over my slit, and I shake my head as I try to lift my hips to him. He chuckles.
“It’s an object with many, many uses, especially when it comes to kink. It can bind. It can b
e both a collar and a leash…” He encircles my throat with it, just tight enough and long enough that I’m reminded of the contrast between my vulnerability and his power, and then with a swish, he whisks it away. “An instrument of punishment, pain, or pleasure. Or all of the above.”
Light licks kiss the sides of my breasts and across my abdomen, and hot sparks of pleasure blaze across my skin.
“Um, uh, rope?” My brain has left the building. All that’s left is a deep, dark, hazy need.
He flicks the end against my inner thigh, and I wince and try to close my legs, even though it didn’t hurt that much. More of a light sting that quickly morphs into a delicious little burn that translates to a comparable sear of heat through my belly.
“Think, sweetheart.” Little blows rain across my sensitive thighs, across my breasts again, one hitting my engorged nipple and sending little tremors pulsing through my pussy. Someone’s moaning. I think it might be me. “Still don’t know? I’ll have to acquaint you with it soon. When I order you to kneel and unfasten my pants.”
“A belt!”
Just as my brain synapses fire just enough to get the word out, he gently whacks my sex and I scream as my clit throbs. I want…no, I desperately need the release that is hovering just out of my reach.
“Please.” My voice is raw and needy.
If he hears me, he doesn’t acknowledge it, and I hear the clatter of the belt hitting the tile floor, his footsteps, and the sound of something being opened and then closed.
The cold droplets hitting my stomach are shocking.
“Ice.” My breath is jagged, my voice hoarse.
“Very good.”
There’s another cold drop followed quickly by another, and then another. The anticipation—not knowing when it will land, or where—creates a deliciously heady concoction of wild excitement. He tugs lightly on the string between my tied nipples, pulling them erotically, and I gasp as my pussy pulses in rhythm.
“I wonder how the ice will feel against your beautifully engorged nipples.”
His words have the desired effect, and I writhe against the restraints, wanting to escape the cold torture yet craving it in equal measure. But the choice isn’t mine. Firmly bound to the bed, I have no say. It’s up to Noah, and that’s oddly intoxicating. Cold droplets trickle over my now-sensitized nipples, and although the feeling is more intense on my breasts, so is the resulting pleasure. Need and craving curl in my belly, and I want to close my legs to alleviate the ache of longing. I want…something. His tongue, his fingers, his cock. Release. But I’m at his mercy. My pleasure is his to give or deny. Or prolong until I’m a wet and needy mess.
He scrapes the edge of the ice cube over each nipple, rumbling his approval as they tighten into hard points. He slowly trails the ice down my torso, and my body twists and lifts off the bed as much as the restraints allow. He circles my belly button, letting the water pool there before his warm tongue laps it up. I seriously don’t know how much more I can take. Ice drops fall onto my needy clit, and I almost come undone. And then…nothing.
I lie in the darkness, every sense heightened. He’s right. Unable to see or move, I feel every breath, every caress, every emotion, so intensely. And every silence without his touch like it’s an eternity. Little tendrils of panic are licking at my composure when his voice, right next to me, breaks the silence.
“If only you could see yourself right now like I see you. So beautifully feminine. So vulnerable and exposed. It makes my cock hard.”
His blunt confession should sound crude, but instead, the raw words thrill me.
“I want to keep you here just like this, captured and mine to use in every way I can imagine. And I have a very vivid imagination.”
I whimper. It’s all becoming too much. I want more than I ever dreamed possible.
His warm mouth closes over one breast, and he teases it gently with his tongue before he moves to the other one. The heat of his mouth on my chilled skin feels exquisite, and I moan with pleasure. I can feel the upward curve of his lips at the sound as they follow the trail left by the ice, each kiss branding my skin.
When his lips have traversed every inch of my body, leaving me even wetter with wanting, he says, “One last guess, sweetheart.” I can feel the weight of his body between my spread legs where he has just kissed my pubic bone, and his breath is warm against my pussy.
“Please God, let it be your tongue,” I pray aloud.
Something warm swipes up the length of my slit, and I struggle for breath. His tongue is phenomenally talented. He flicks and licks and sucks and teases my clit until I’m sure I’m going to rip the fabric ties that hold me. I’m wild and mindless with my need. I’m desperate to feel him, to have him, to experience his thick, hard cock filling me.
He slides a finger into my dripping wetness without breaking stride with his tongue, and the combination of the wet heat of his mouth and the demanding intrusion, after the way he’s slowly built my arousal, is too much. I’m going to die. I’m lost somewhere in a void, spinning out of control. I want to tell him what I want. What I need. But I can’t form the words. My body begs for what my mouth can’t. He’s taken me to the edge, and I want to go all the way over, but I’m terrified, too. I’ve never felt this way before.
He doesn’t relent, and the need coils tighter and tighter in me as my muscles go rigid, every fiber of my being poised on the brink. Then, with one last flick of his tongue and thrust of his finger I hurtle over the edge, freefalling in a pleasure so intense, I don’t ever want to be in control again. My body shakes and shudders from the force of the orgasm.
He gives me several minutes to recover before he removes the blindfold. I try to focus, still lost in the dizzying throes of release. He’s smiling, but there’s hunger in his eyes. He kisses me softly, unties the floss from my breasts, and then releases each of the loops binding me to the bed. I lie there, boneless, unable to move, and the deep rumble of his laughter sends a surge of warmth over me.
“Roll over, sweetheart. I’ll work the kinks out. You’ve earned it.”
I mutely roll over, and as soon as his hands touch me, I feel like butter that’s been left out in the sun on a South Carolina summer day. Pearl Jam is playing on the small speaker Noah brought from the boat, and the haunting melody seems to slice open my soul, letting all my worries seep away. Noah’s hands are slick with oil, and he rhythmically strokes over my neck and shoulders, then down and up my arms, the strokes becoming deeper and longer as he moves down my back. He presses his chest against my back, his weight adding to the stroke of his hands, and I can feel his hard cock skim my ass. Thank God he wants me as much as I want him. I want to tell him that I need him now, need his cock inside of me, but the way his hands are moving over my body is hypnotizing, robbing me of any coherent thoughts.
He kisses my jaw lightly, then works his way down my spine, stopping to trace slow, languid circles over my lower back before moving back up, his breath warm against my skin. He presses his lips against that tender area just behind my ear before sucking my ear lobe into the wet heat of his mouth, and my sex comes alive again.
Keeping my ear lightly gripped between his teeth, his hand roves down to my butt, which he kneads with deep, satisfying strokes. Using his foot, he gently nudges my legs apart and lightly skims up and down my inner thighs, making me quiver. His low appreciative growl at my response warms me down to my toes.
With firm hands, he rolls me onto my back again, and I meet his hot gaze with my own. He reaches for the oil, and I watch as he squirts some into his hands, rubs his hands together, and then runs his hand between my breasts. He moves to my shoulders, working his way down my arms and back up, and I close my eyes, caught up in the hedonistic sensation. He skims over my breasts with the palm of his hand, and when he moves over my erect nipples I moan and push up into his hands, my breasts straining, desperate for his touch.
But he clearly likes to torture me, and he moves lower, never breaking contact, his hands cons
tantly rubbing and kneading and massaging, the stimulation of his touch even more profound since my senses have been heightened from our sensory play beforehand. He speaks with his hands, and I know unequivocally that he wants me as much as I want him. Although I have never felt more relaxed, I’m breathing harder, and I gasp as he lifts my leg onto his shoulder, his lips skimming my inner thigh.
I can feel the wetness between my legs, and I wonder briefly if he can, too. But I’m beyond embarrassment with him. He has unraveled me and seen my soul. There’s nothing to hide from him now.
His fingers massage the outer lips of my pussy, and I groan with need. This time he doesn’t make me wait. He slides two fingers into my vagina and massages my G-spot, and my breathing becomes ragged as my fingers grip the sheets. Oh my God. So. Fucking. Good.
His oil-slicked fingers find the hood of my clitoris, and he massages it gently until my hips are churning, matching the circular torment of his finger. I want more. I want everything.
I have never yearned for anything the way I yearn for his cock in me, filling me and penetrating me all the way to my needy core.
“Please.” It’s a hoarse plea, but it’s all I can manage.
And then the broad head of his cock is at my entrance, teasing me as he barely pushes it into my needy sex and pulls it out again. After several times of this merciless torture, I’m almost in tears.
“Is this the punishment part? Because I don’t think I can take even two more minutes of this.”
“No, sweet girl, this is not the punishment.” He gives me an almost tender look as he grabs my calves and pushes my legs up so I’m almost doubled in half. He parts the cheeks of my bottom so I can feel the erotic stretch as he slowly enters me and I sigh. I have never needed anything the way I need Noah’s cock right this moment. He moves inside me, his thick shaft hitting my G-spot. In this position, he can penetrate me deeply, and every time he thrusts, his thick shaft stimulates that bundle of nerves, sending shock waves of pleasure pulsing through me. In seconds, I’m ready to come undone.
“Please, Noah. Please.”
Rogue (Phoenix Rising) Page 11
